


Houseshare

by CommonNonsense



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:32:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: While attending university outside of Japan with his brother, Hanzo ends up sharing house with one Jesse McCree, an odd but pleasant cowboy, to help with rent. He's always liked Jesse, more or less, but he realizes after some time that it's quite a bit more than that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For someone on Tumblr. :D

Hanzo first becomes aware of it on a Tuesday afternoon, over a six-pound mathematics textbook and a half-finished latte.

The coffee shop is Hanzo’s favorite place on the university campus, located in the corner of the mathematics building. It is right next to most of his classes, never burns the espresso, and most importantly, is quiet. It is primarily frequented by students from the math and related departments, most of whom stick to themselves as they sip coffee and do homework. It is an ideal place to sit, decompress, and work.   
  
Granted, though the café is primarily for math majors, it doesn’t stop a handful of other students from coming by, even when their departments are a quarter-mile walk away.

“Here you are,” says Jesse McCree, setting down a cup of coffee with a tap. He drops himself into the chair opposite Hanzo. “One latte with enough sugar to kill a horse. Don’t know how you drink that stuff.”

Hanzo takes his cup. A burst of warmth blossoms in his gut that has nothing to do with the drink in his hands. “Some of us simply have taste,” he replies.

“Pssh. I like my coffee with a little bite and without the diabetes.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, with makes Jesse laugh as he leans down to rifle through his bag. He is familiar enough now with Jesse’s preferences, and their coffee argument is an old one often replayed.

Genji had introduced Jesse some months ago at the beginning of the year, calling him an old friend who needed somewhere to crash. Hanzo had heard the name Jesse McCree a few times prior, and had even seen the scruffy cowboy around the university, but had never put the two together. He had almost said no on the basis of refusing to share space with a 22-year-old man who genuinely wore a cowboy hat every day.

But Genji had persisted, Jesse had flashed a winning smile, and Hanzo gave up without a fight.

That was five months ago, and now Hanzo is more than accustomed to sharing his home--a little house not far from the campus, but private enough for his and his brother’s liking--with the odd man. Jesse utterly fails at maintaining a clean space, but he cooks for everyone, shares his alcohol, and is generally a pleasant individual overall. Hanzo is surprised by how much he likes the other man. Had he met someone like this while he was still in Japan, he probably wouldn’t have wasted his breath on telling him to leave.

And if he’s developed a bit of a crush on the cowboy, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own. Besides, despite his penchant for being chatty at the worst times, Jesse is a welcome study partner. Hanzo can enjoy both perks.

“Anyway,” Jesse says from below the table, where he is digging around through his backpack. “Won’t be here long. Gotta run in a bit.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Got me a date tonight.” Jesse drops a heavy textbook on the table and flashes a self-satisfied grin. “Pretty little lady from my criminal psych class. Didn’t think she’d say yes, but I was pleasantly surprised.”

Something unidentifiable twists in Hanzo’s chest. “Oh,” he says again. He turns his attention back to his notebook. The equations blur before his eyes, the calculations slipping through the grasp of his focus. He feels ill, somehow, and his heart is suddenly racing in his chest. He sets down his pencil and waits, hoping the feelings will pass.

Jesse continues to ramble, apparently oblivious to Hanzo’s distress. “Nothin’ much special, just dinner and a movie,” he says, cracking open his book and reaching for his laptop. “But I’m feelin’ pretty good about it. Wouldn’t wait up for me tonight, if you catch my drift.”

“I get it,” says Hanzo dryly. “Far be it for me to wait up on one of your conquests.”

“Ouch. Is that how you think of me?”

Hanzo smirks. “One would think a cowboy would take pride in it.”

An odd expression flashes over Jesse’s face, but it is gone in an instant. He slurps loudly from his coffee in lieu of answering.

Hanzo returns to his homework, feeling more relaxed despite the continued jitter of his stomach. The sounds of keys clicking across the table becomes a backdrop, a familiar noise drowning out the rest of the café. Hanzo has never been particularly social, but he likes Jesse enough, and finds that his presence while they study, even while working on completely different projects, is much more pleasant than it ought to be.

Something niggles at the back of his mind as he works, though, pulling his concentration away from the math. He feels strangely annoyed, and his mind keeps coming back to the news of Jesse’s date. He does not know why. Jesse has gone on plenty of dates since Hanzo has known him, with a variety of genders, and it is not unusual. Certainly there is always that thought of _I wish I were out with him instead_ , but Hanzo is a grown man and is not given to pining over silly crushes. So why is he so preoccupied now?

He glances up. Jesse is deeply embroiled in his work now, intently focused. He chews on the end of a plastic straw as he types, a replacement for his favored cigarettes. The sunshine from the windows catches on his chestnut hair and strong, scruffy jaw. Hanzo catches himself staring, enamored. He has the strangest urge to just reach out and _touch:_ to draw his fingertips down the square lines of his face, to feel the difference between smooth skin and scruff, to pull him slowly closer until their lips brush--

The realization hits him like a train.

He sucks in a breath, and Jesse looks up. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Hanzo replies, affecting casualness. He looks quickly down at his notebook, though there is no chance of him finishing his work now.

When had he fallen for a childish, loud, handsome cowboy?

The remains of his latte run cold as he sits, staring at his notebook, even his homework long forgotten. He hopes, against hope, that his feelings will go away if given time. He cannot involve himself in romantic entanglements, especially not Jesse--his roommate, his friend, and his brother’s best friend. It is not an option, no matter how much he may want it now.

 

\--

 

Unfortunately, it is impossible for romantic feelings to fade when Hanzo is constantly in the presence of the source.

Living with him is bad enough, but at least it is manageable. Everyone has busy schedules, so if he’s careful, he can work around Jesse’s schedule and be conveniently unavailable whenever Jesse is home. He is constantly aware of Jesse’s presence, but at least he can minimize the damage it does.

However, there is very little he can do when he shares a class with the man.

His mathematics and business degrees do not overlap much with Jesse’s criminal justice courses, but he had made the mistake of pushing off one general class until his final year. Jesse had done much the same, and had insisted that they sign up for the same English class for the sake of making it English literature just a little more interesting. Which is how, mere days after Hanzo’s painful realization, he is stuck next to the man in question for a solid hour several times per week.

Right now Jesse is distracted, from Hanzo and the lecture both, talking to Lena in the seat beside him. Hanzo tries to keep his attention on the lecture and his notes, but it proves difficult for a number of reasons--not the least of them being Jesse’s mere presence.

“So how’d your date go?” he overhears Lena ask. “With what’s-her-name? She seemed nice.”

Jesse makes a dissatisfied hum. “It was alright,” he says, “but I think that’s the end of the line with her. Nice and all, but somethin’ didn’t feel right.

Hanzo can’t help the little burst of satisfaction he feels. He shoves it down and redoubles his focus on his notes. Childish, perhaps, to take joy in his friend’s romantic failure, but he will take what he can get for now.

“No? That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. How’s things with Emily?”

Lena gives a lovesick sigh. “It’s really great,” she says. “I really like her. “

“Yeah? Maybe I should get you wingmanning for me, then. Somehow you’re better at picking up women than I am.”

“Oh, I know I am. Women aren’t really that into cowboys, Jesse. If you took off the hat and that weird belt, you might actually have a chance.” A pause, then Lena adds, “Besides, I’m way cuter.”

Hanzo scowls at his notebook. Whatever he was writing devolves into a dark scribble that pokes a hole in the page and marks the paper underneath.

“Uh, something wrong there, Hanzo?”

Hanzo looks up at Jesse, whose expression is both concerned and a bit apprehensive. Hanzo clears his throat uncomfortably and returns to his notes.

“Fine,” he says. It is unconvincing even to his own ears, but luckily, neither Jesse nor Lena press the issue. They quickly return to chatting, conversation all focused on their love lives--or lack thereof, in Jesse’s case. Hanzo tries to ignore it and focus on the lecture, but a PowerPoint on proper citation of sources in English papers is not enough. All he can think of is Jesse, who is apparently “lovelorn and lost,” swapping random stories with Lena about the people they’ve dated. The jealousy seethes within him, roiling in his gut, pulling every muscle taut until he feels like one wrong touch would cause him to shatter.

Finally, he snaps and turns in his seat to glare at the other two. “If you do not mind,” Hanzo growls, “the rest of us would like to to hear the lecture.”

Lena shrinks back, properly chastised, but Jesse frowns at him. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks.

Hanzo wrinkles his nose at the metaphor. “Nothing. I simply want to be able to take notes. Unlike you, I have an actual interest in doing well.”

Jesse mutters something incomprehensible and turns forward to look at the professor again. He does not take any notes, however, and begins doodling in the margins of his paper. Despite his agitation, Hanzo finds himself softening as he watches Jesse draw lopsided stars and faces, focus easily pulled away to almost anything else. Jesse is perfectly bright, though one might never guess it just by looking at him, the Hanzo has always found the disparity intriguing.

Before long, Hanzo’s completely lost track of the lecture himself. He loses focus in favor of watching the minute changes of expression on Jesse’s face, observing how the light catches on the soft lines of his lashes, wondering how it might feel to run his hands through his hair, or to have Jesse’s hands comb through his. His pen stops mid-sentence, leaning against his hand instead of taking notes.

A chair screeches against the linoleum and startles Hanzo back to reality. He jerks and quickly looks away, but Jesse did not notice him staring.

Lena, however, leans back in her chair to look at Hanzo around Jesse. Her eyes are wide, a little smile playing at the corner out her mouth. She glances to Jesse and back at Hanzo as if to say, “I caught you and I know you’re into him.” He frowns at her, and she stifles a giggle before dropping her chair back on all fours.

Damn it all to hell, this is impossible. Jesse is surprisingly astute when he wants to be--if random classmates are noticing Hanzo’s distress, it is only a matter of time until Jesse does, too. He will have to try harder to avoid everything until he can get himself under control. Why can he not function like a normal human being when he is around Jesse?

 

\--

 

“There you are,” says Genji, slamming his hand down on the table.

Hanzo tenses, but he refrains from jumping. The library is dead silent, filled with only a scant few students desperately cramming for their upcoming exams. Genji, however, has never been a quiet person.

“Here I am,” Hanzo says, keeping his eyes on his laptop.

“I haven’t seen you in the house in like two days. You avoiding me, brother?” Genji laughs, unconcerned either way, and drops into a chair next to Hanzo. “Figured you would be either here or that that café, though, so it’s not like like it’s hard to track you down.”

“I am working,” says Hanzo, continuing to type.

“You’re _always_ working,” Genji whines, slouching on the table. “Come on, a bunch of us are going out for drinks. You should come with us.”

Hanzo tried not to scowl. Genji’s “us” consisted of any number of his numerous acquaintances who preferred partying to passing their classes. Hanzo had made the mistake of joining them once, and had been so thoroughly overwhelmed within an hour that he swore never to join Genji in a bar again.

“ _You_ should be working,” Hanzo retorts. “Just how badly are you failing your classes right now? How much money is Father wasting on your education?”

“Oh, who cares. I’m passing.”

 _Barely_ , Hanzo thinks dryly.

“Whatever you say,” he says aloud, finally clicking his laptop shut. “But if you bring home anyone else this week, I _will_ lock you out.”

Genji pouts, but the expression only lasts a moment before a sly smile creeps over his face. “At least one of us is getting lucky,” he says. “So tell me, have you told Jesse that you’re desperately in love with him yet, or have you been waiting until I’m out of the house?”

Hanzo freezes, which is all the answer that Genji needs. “I knew it!” Genji crows, causing two students at a distant table to turn glares on him. “I knew you were into him. That’s why you’ve been avoiding the house and being so pissy, right?”

“I said no such thing,” Hanzo protests, but it’s a weak argument, and Genji is already off and running with his new discovery.

“I can’t believe it!” Genji laughs. Somebody nearby shushes him, and he finally drops his voice to a loud whisper. “You and my best friend. That’s unbelievable. You _have_ to tell him, I bet he’d lose it.”

Hanzo finally looks at Genji with a glare. “I will not tell him anything,” he says sharply. “And _you_ had better not say a word to him, either.”

“What? Why not? You’re not even gonna try?”

“Of course I am not.”

“Oh come on, you’ve had a crush on him for months and haven’t even tried to make a move. Are you that dedicated to being all broody and self-hating?”

Hanzo grits his teeth. “I will not because I have more important things to do. Such as two degrees to finish and a nosy, uncontrollable younger brother to manage.”

Genji’s pleased smile finally fades. “Don’t make this about me,” he says. “It’s not my fault you’re too scared of Father to go after anything you might actually want.”

Hanzo’s temper quickly flares. “It is when I am required to look after you at all times!” he snarls. “You may think all of this is a game, but I do not. I will not sacrifice _my_ potential chasing this like you do!”

“Don’t take it out on me just because I’m having fun! Besides, that’s an excuse and you know it. You won’t tell him because you’re _afraid_ that he’ll say no, and you’re mad at me because at least that’s something I’m better than you at!”    

“This is not about _you_ and it is not--”

“Gentlemen!” interrupts a stern female voice. Hanzo and Genji look up simultaneously to the tall, older woman who has materialized by their table. She glares down at them over her cat-eye lenses and says, “I’m afraid I’ll need the two of you to leave. You’re disrupting the other students.”

Hanzo immediately deflates, his anger tempered by sudden shame. “My apologies,” he murmurs, and he hears Genji follow suit. He quietly tucks away his laptop into his bag and gets to his feet, and they depart the library, followed the the librarian’s disapproving frown.

Once outside, Hanzo expects Genji to storm off in a huff, but instead he lingers. In the cool evening, under the open night sky, their argument suddenly seems much more petty than it did a moment ago. The feeling of shame compounds, cold in his gut.

Hanzo finally sighs and says, “I am sorry. My problems are my own, not yours.”

Genji scuffs the pavement with the toe of his shoe, staring down like a child. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t have yelled.” Then he looks up. “But _why_ do you want to keep it a secret so much? Jesse’s a good friend. He’d want to know this kind of thing.”

Hanzo almost doesn’t answer. “That is precisely why,” he admits. “He is a friend. To _both_ of us. I do not want to lose that.”

“That’s what everyone says. But if you don’t at least _try_ , you’re just making yourself unhappy.” Genji looks at him with an unexpectedly serious expression. “You don’t deserve to be miserable all of the time, brother. And besides, I’d rather you get with him than someone I don’t know.”

Hanzo chuckles dryly but says nothing else. He turns to start the walk home, and Genji trails behind. After they’ve walked a few feet, Genji says, “You’re going to have to tell him eventually. I’m worried all the sexual tension is going to burn the house down.”

Hanzo smacks him in the back of the head, but Genji only laughs. “You know I’m right,” Genji says. “You can’t avoid it forever.”

“Unlike you, I have self-control,” says Hanzo, although the sinking feeling in his gut says otherwise. Even his discipline has its limits, and he worries what will happen if Jesse ever found  out the depth of his feelings.

 

\--

 

Some days later see Hanzo alone in his room, enjoying some rare time to himself. Genji left an hour ago, his destination some dive bar in which Hanzo had no interest. His homework is completed and squared away, and what work remains will be stretched across his upcoming weekend. His plans for the remainder of the evening include a cup of tea, a book, and solitude. However, just as he’s reclining on his bed, tea in hand and book in his lap, there’s a knock at his bedroom door.

On the other side stands Jesse. The young man grins widely. “Howdy, Hanzo,” he says. “Was thinkin’ about watchin’ a movie. Care to join me?” He rattles a pack of cheap beer at his side, as though the promise of terrible alcohol is meant to be alluring.

Still, Hanzo considers it. The thought of an evening alone with Jesse, without any interruptions, has its appeal. Too much appeal, in fact. He knows that he should say no, close the door, and suppress those stupid urges the same way he has done for ages.

But he looks up at Jesse’s smiling face, weighs the benefits of a movie with Jesse versus a book he can read anytime, and says, “Alright.”

“Great. Got this great old Western picked out. Think you’ll like it.”

“Do you watch anything else?”

“Sometimes, but this is the good stuff. Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watchin’ ‘em when you think I don’t notice.”

Hanzo makes a face, and Jesse laughs.

Jesse sets the beer on the table, drops himself onto the couch with an indulgent groan, and reaches for a bottle. He twists the cap off with the hem of his shirt wrapped over the top for protection, which gives Hanzo a brief glimpse of the tanned skin of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair disappearing under his jeans. Hanzo’s mouth runs dry. He distracts himself with his own beer, opening it quickly and drinking deeply. Thankfully, Jesse seems not to notice.

He catches Jesse smirking at him. “What?”

“Long day?” Jesse asks, nodding toward the beer.

“Something like that.”

“I feel that. Classes are kicking my ass right now. If Gabe weren’t payin’ for all this shit, I’d be outta here like a gunshot.”

Hanzo latches onto conversation. Anything to distract himself from the obvious. “You’ve mentioned Gabe before. Who is he? Family?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No, not really. He’s . . .” He pauses, scraping the label on his beer with his thumbnail. “He got me out of some shit. He works for this big organization, said they could float me through college if I got my act together.”

“Really.”

“Mmhm. Got my GED, proved I was serious, and he set it up. If I finish this, he wants me to work for him.”

“What were you doing that he had to get you out?”

Jesse laughs ruefully. “I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that conversation. Ask me again in half an hour.”

“Fair enough. I do not mean to pry.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

 _I did not want to know every detail of your life before_ , Hanzo thinks, and chases the thought with another drink.

They lapse into silence for a time, both focused on the movie. The film Jesse has chosen is just as ridiculous as any other he likes, all exaggerated Southern accents and old-timey scenery, with the predictable lone-wolf protagonist doling out vigilante justice. Hanzo would be ashamed of watching it if he weren’t so engaged. Beside him, Jesse occasionally makes a comment about the action on-screen, a joke or a random bit of trivia that only he would know. He occasionally bumps his elbow against Hanzo’s arm as he gestures, random spots of warmth that Hanzo savors more than he should. The whole thing is warm and comfortable: just the two of them, close enough together to feel intimate, the house silent and dark around them. If he could just close that gap, sidle under Jesse’s arm, lift his head so that their noses brushed and he could steal a kiss--

Hanzo’s chest aches as the fantasy unfurls in his head. He shakes himself out of it and drains his beer. His head feels fuzzy from the alcohol, but it’s not yet enough for him to handle the rest of the evening.

When the action on-screen dies down and shifts to a lengthy monologue, Jesse reaches for his third beer. He sighs as he sinks back into the couch and says, “I was in a gang.”

Hanzo blinks, startled out of the movie. “A gang?”

Jesse nods. “I . . . ran away from home when I was fifteen. My family wasn’t really rich and we struggled with a lot of stuff. The Deadlock Gang was pretty big around where I lived, and so I thought, maybe if I got myself in with them, I’d have a better shot at life. Dropped outta high school, left a note for my parents, and ran off.”

“I take it that ended poorly.”

“Oh, definitely. I got caught after a few years, when Gabe’s team staked out one of our operations and the gang all bolted and left me. Scared the shit out of me. Thought I was gonna be in prison the rest of my life.”

“But you weren’t, obviously.”

“No. I was only seventeen when I got picked up. I think Gabe felt bad for me, didn’t feel like he could just throw me in jail, so he decided he’d help me get my shit together instead.”

Jesse sighs, his eyes drooping. “It’s been over four years since I got out and I still just hate myself sometimes for what I did. It wasn’t a little gang. It was . . . a lot of bad shit. Sometimes I think I deserved to go to jail. Or maybe more.”

Hanzo hesitates, torn between the desire to comfort Jesse and his utter inability to do so. After a moment, he settles on resting a hand on Jesse’s knee.

“You are not a bad man, Jesse,” he says. “The fact that you acknowledge your wrongdoing and have worked to do better at all is proof enough.”

He pauses again. Jesse turns to look at him, and Hanzo is forced to look away. “Besides,” he continues, “it is because of your decisions that we were able to meet. I would consider that a positive.”

Jesse’s eyes go wide. A crooked smile slowly spreads over his face. “Well then,” he says, and reaches to tip the hat he isn’t currently wearing. He fumbles, waves it off like he meant to do it, and says, “Thanks for that, darlin’.”

Warmth blooms under Hanzo’s ribs. He smiles back unconsciously, pleased just to see Jesse’s spirits lifted.

“Now you,” says Jesse.

“Now me what?”

“I bared my soul. Now you gotta tell me somethin’ about you. Like why you and Genji are here instead of in Japan.”

Hanzo purses his lips into a thin line. “It is complicated,” he says.

“Well, gimme the gist of it. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Hanzo looks back to the movie, although he has long since lost track of the plot. “My family maintains a large business back home,” he says. “It is . . . difficult to describe. My father wants us to take over in the future, but Genji refuses. I do not want to abandon the family, but I am . . . uncertain. It was Genji’s decision more than mine to come to America, to get away for some time. He is often angry that I still think of going home when we are finished.”

Jesse’s eyebrows furrow. “What kinda business is this?”

“Complicated.” Hanzo shakes his head. “I am sorry. I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Fair enough.” Jesse looks back at the TV, fidgets with his beer bottle. “I’ll tell you what, though. I wish I’d been half as good to my siblings as you are to Genji.”

Hanzo scoffs. “I am hardly good.”

“Yeah, you are. I’ve seen you guys fight before and obviously there’s a whole lot goin’ on, but you know what? I ditched my whole family when I was a teenager. You’re stickin’ it out.” Jesse leans in close to Hanzo, suddenly intense. Hanzo freezes, unable to tear his gaze from Jesse’s. “You’re dealin’ with all that and still pulling perfect grades. You’re pretty brilliant, Hanzo, don’t beat yourself up because it ain’t all perfect when you’re doing better than anyone else I know.”

Hanzo stares, his breath stuck in his throat, his words gone. His heart feels full to bursting from the unexpected praise. He feels lightheaded, and he does not know whether it’s from the beer or from Jesse’s mere existence. Jesse is still smiling crookedly down at him, awaiting a response, his expression purely earnest.

Before he can stop himself, he leans up and presses his lips to Jesse’s.

He hears Jesse inhale sharply, surprised, but it does not register. All he can think about is the soft warmth of Jesse’s mouth, the slight roughness of chapped skin, the lingering taste of beer shared between them. Jesse does not respond, frozen, but neither does he pull away.

It only lasts a second before Hanzo jerks away, suddenly realizing the severity of his actions. He stares up at Jesse, the realization filtering through the haze in his brain.

Jesse stares back. He knows.

Hanzo leaps to his feet and away from the couch. “I am sorry,” he says quickly, already backing away. “I should not--I did not mean to--”

“Hey, hold on, Hanzo,” Jesse says, standing.

Hanzo shakes his head. Without another word, he ducks into his bedroom and slams the door behind him. Once inside, he slumps against the door, dropping his head back.

How could he be so foolish?”

“Hanzo?” Jesse calls on the other side of the door. There’s a gentle knock somewhere beside Hanzo’s head. “C’mon, don’t do this. It’s okay, I ain’t mad. Can we talk?”

Hanzo steps away from the door. He takes his jacket from the back of his chair and slips it on, then steps into the nearest pair of shoes.

When he opens the door again, Jesse is still standing on the other side. He starts to speak, but Hanzo shoves past without hearing. He is out the front door before Jesse can protest, striding quickly down the street and into the cold, lonely night.

When he returns home again some hours later, the TV is off, the drinks have been cleared, and Jesse has gone to bed.

 

\-----

 

Hanzo wakes early, before anyone else in the house. He listens, and when he hears no signs of life from the rest of the house, he dresses quickly and leaves.

The campus is quiet most Saturdays, but the math department café is still open for the unlucky souls with weekend classes. He finds his usual table in the corner with a small paper cup of tea, just to give himself an excuse to stay there as long as he can.

He can’t take his mind off the previous night. The ridiculousness of allowing himself to lower his guard, to not only fail to hold his wants in check but to indulge in them, fills him with shame and embarrassment. He’s probably destroyed his friendship with the only man he trusts besides his own brother, and still has to live with him at least for three more months.

Foolish. That is all he is.

He sits in the café for one hour, then two, mulling over the situation and finishing his tea. Eventually he takes out his phone to check for texts, and his heart leaps when he sees one new message--and deflates again when he realizes it’s from Genji. Disgusted at himself, he slips his phone back into his coat pocket without reading the text.

Another paper coffee cup thunks down on the table in front of him. Startled, Hanzo looks up into Jesse’s face. The man stands above him, another coffee in his other hand, and quirks a tentative smile.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks.

Hanzo groans. “I do not want to talk,” he says. He tries to push the offered coffee away, but Jesse holds it in place.  
“Well, I do,” he replies. “We live in the same house, Hanzo, you can’t avoid me forever.”

“I can certainly try.”

“Would you quit bein’ stubborn and just hear me out? I know it’s your favorite thing, but trust me, I’m just as stubborn.”

Hanzo glares at him. Jesse stares down at him evenly, jaw set. Finally, Hanzo relents, releasing the coffee and folding his arms on the tabletop. Jesse sits across from him, purposefully casual, his expression carefully neutral.

“So,” says Jesse after a long moment of silence. He wraps his hands around his cup, holding but not drinking. “I . . . didn’t realize you felt like that.”

“That is because I did not tell you,” says Hanzo curtly. His stomach twists and churns. As if last night’s show weren’t embarrassing enough, now Jesse insists on dragging it out into the light.

“Fair enough.” Jesse sips his drink, sets it down again, holds it between both hands. “Right before I moved in, I asked you out. You said no. I figured that was the end of it.”

“That was then.”

“And now?”

“Now is different.”

Jesse exhales sharply. Annoyed. Hanzo feels a twinge of bitter embarrassment. Of course his feelings are an annoyance. This was why he had kept them to himself for so long in the first place, but now Jesse insists on pulling it out, dissecting, turning over every facet of it for his own appraisal. He would hate him for it if he weren’t so angry at himself.

“Alright, look,” says Jesse, and Hanzo has had enough.

“I do not expect anything from you!” he interrupts sharply. “I am sorry for last night. I don’t expect anything. I did not even intend for you to know. We do not need to discuss this any further--”

“I like you,” says Jesse.

Hanzo freezes. Jesse meets his gaze for a few seconds, but eventually his eyes flicker down to his hands, his brow knitting with apprehension.

“I didn’t think--”  Jesse starts. He huffs, takes off his hat, and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. I really like you, alright? Last night you ran off so fast I couldn’t tell you.”

He laughs self-consciously, rubbing his hand down his face. Hanzo sits, frozen, unable to do anything but listen in shock as Jesse continues. “Shit, listen to me. I sound like a teenager. But here’s me layin’ my cards on the table. I’ve been real interested for _months_ , but you didn’t seem to be, so I didn’t wanna push it.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, but no words come forth. He swallows hard and tries again, but everything sticks behind a lump in his throat. He grips his coffee so tight that it bends under his hands and pops the lid.

Jesse sighs heavily. He pushes his coffee to the side and leans over the table. He licks his lips once, nervous. “To be real honest with you,” he says softly, “I--I think I might in love with you.”

Hanzo’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know what face he is making, but whatever it is makes Jesse give another self-deprecating chuckle. “This is such a mess,” he says. “But here’s the thing. I really want to give this a go. If you want to.” He pauses, swallows hard, and continues, “If you _really_ want to let this go, then fine, I’ll forget all about it. But I really hope that’s not the case.”

He reaches across the table and slowly, tentatively, brushes the tips of his fingers over Hanzo’s knuckles. His hand finally settles atop Hanzo’s, firm and warm. He finally looks at Hanzo again, gaze beseeching, the barest hint of a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Hanzo swallows again. Looks at their hands on the table. Thinks of the dozens of times he has imagined moments just like this.

“You gotta say somethin’, sweetheart. I can’t read your mind.”

Hanzo takes a deep breath, inhaling slowly through his nose. “Yes,” he says, strangled. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yes, I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Jesse’s answering smile is nothing short of dazzling. Hanzo is helpless to do anything but smile back, feeling foolish but lighter than he has in years. He wants nothing more now than to throw himself at Jesse and kiss him until they’re both gasping for air, but his sense of propriety stops him. They are still in public, after all.

“How about we go home?” he suggests, already pushing back his seat. “I feel the rest of this isn’t a conversation to have in a café.”

“You barely touched your coffee!” Jesse protests, although he is already sitting back as though to leave.

“I am not interested in _coffee_ right now.”

Jesse mutters something that sounds like “hell, darlin’,” as he pushes out his chair.

They stand to leave and Jesse leads the way out, holding the door open for Hanzo as they go. Once outside, however, Hanzo pauses, causing Jesse to stop up short before they collide.

“Whoa there, darlin’,” Jesse says. Hanzo turns to face him. “Something up?”

“Not in particular,” says Hanzo. He tilts his head up, hinting as obviously as he can without words. He sees Jesse’s gaze flicker down to his mouth and stay there.

“Oh,” Jesse murmurs.

“Mhmm,” Hanzo hums. He raises a brow, still waiting. Jesse hesitates, clears his throat, and finally dips down into a kiss.

It’s so easy, as though they’ve done this a hundred times before. Jesse’s lips are warm and soft against his, kissing once, then again. His hands rest on Hanzo’s waist, tugging him closer, and Hanzo instinctively grips his arms as though to keep him there. The kiss lasts only a few seconds, until they both end up breaking it by smiling too much, but by the time they separate, Hanzo feels lightheaded with joy.

Jesse smiles crookedly down at him. A faint flush darkens his cheeks. “Wow,” he murmurs.

Hanzo laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “I feel much the same.” He feels a bump against his hand and glances down as Jesse intertwines their fingers. He is distracted for a moment by the sight alone, the warm tan of Jesse’s skin against his own paler skin, and only snaps out of it when Jesse leans in close.

“I feel really good about this,” Jesse says, soft and earnest. His eyes are wide, a golden-copper in the sunlight.

Hanzo squeezes his hand. His stomach is in knots, a mix of anxiety and joy and anticipation all twisting together somewhere below his ribs. “As do I,” he replies.


End file.
